Shake, Shake, Shake
by clueless in seattle
Summary: Bobby and Alex are shaking for very different reasons. Okay! So I needed the break from serious/heavy! Probably VDO's excuse for doing The Break Up. The literary merits are similar too...


_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…of course the earth moved for me last night baby…and for several million others when it's a 5.2 on the Richter scale quake)_

_**You need to use your imagination a little for this one…**_

**SHAKE, SHAKE, SHAKE**

Alex stifled a moan of discomfort and misery and set aside the empty quart carton of chocolate ice cream. It hadn't made her feel any better than the other two that sat on the floor by the sofa. _Maybe strawberry would do the trick?_ Except she didn't have any and was under doctor's orders not to leave her apartment.

She huddled under the comforter with a shiver and a mutter of _"shit"_ as she found the TV remote, which vanished an hour ago. Or rather her left buttock did, which at least put a stop to the late night re-run of _Oprah_, where yet again the book being discussed was one of those psycho-babble self help things. _How come none of them ever told you how to find a missing remote?_ And at least _"Reservoir Dogs"_ the channel switched to had some entertainment value.

Alex wasn't so much _"stuck in the middle"_ as stuck with chicken pox and her own fault for helping out with her nephew's birthday party. Such was her misery, she could have cheerfully sliced more than the ear off whichever of the rug rats present had been incubating _"Varicella zoster"_ last weekend when she was handing round slices of cake. Nor did it make you feel any better to have a partner who told you the correct name for the disease you contracted. And spelled it out over the phone to be sure you got it right.

Never mind _"Mr White"_ or _"Mr Pink"_. Right now she was _"Detective Pink, White and Covered in Ugly Red Itchy Blotches"_ and that walking medical dictionary called Bobby Goren was working this latest case on his own. Alex glanced at the coffee table where Bobby's _"Get Well"_ present was sitting. The bottle intended to make her feel better, beautifully gift wrapped with the bows and curls of ribbon he always did so well. You had to give him credit for that.

At least six shades of pink in perfect tone contrast to the contents._Pink champagne? Scented and soothing bath oil?_ No of course not. Typical of Goren he'd sent a magnum bottle of_"Calamine Lotion"_ and instructions on how often to apply it. Though it wasn't really him she was mad with. Just typical, lousy rotten luck for her to get_"Varicella zoster"_ when they were investigating a murder at a male strip club. Someone_"up there" _and she didn't mean that weird Mr Turner on the fourth floor of the apartment block, must really, really hate her.

Whilst she sat itching, feverish and swallowing ice cream Bobby was off at_"Mr Bo-Bo Jangles"_ on 112th. Not so much undercover as uncovered. Not working behind the bar but shaking his _"booty"_ three times a night plus the grand finale. Alex still hadn't worked out how he passed the audition so easily and when the Captain had made the suggestion Bobby was, even by his standards, somewhat evasive. About where, when and most of all, the reason why he had_"prior experience"_ of what was required.

All Alex knew was life really sucked sometimes.

* * *

Bobby counted the large wedge of folded ten and twenty dollar bills onto his dresser. Getting to keep any tips was about the only _"upside"_ of this latest case. He'd worked out who the killer was two nights ago, but now he had enough to buy the new carbon fibre fishing rod he'd been to see at _"Cast Your Fly Over This"_. True his backside was bruised and a quick glance over his shoulder in the closet door mirror, confirmed once again his buttocks were like chopped liver. So much for women being the _"gentler sex"_

As he headed for the shower perhaps there were a couple of other bonus features? He'd not had to explain how he, Lewis and Pete funded _"Spring Break"_ in his senior year and Eames was safely at home with chicken pox. And all that baby oil was really doing wonders for his skin…

_**AN:**__**For all those with an excess of imagination the cold showers are that way...**_


End file.
